


That was then, this is now

by crazychloe08



Series: angsty laurens/hamilton oneshots [3]
Category: 17th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Character Study, Depression, F/M, Heavy Angst, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, January 1780, M/M, Memories, birthday angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazychloe08/pseuds/crazychloe08
Summary: January 11, 1780, the war is finally looking up and the odds in the patriots' favor; however, Alexander Hamilton has time to reflect on his birthday."Turning to the candle, he set the first page aflame. The smell of charred paper filled the room as he burnt paper after paper, each sentence of love, fear, and lust erased forever."AKA, it's Alexander Hamilton's Birthday and I decided to make myself and my readers cry with some heavy angst!
Relationships: Aaron Burr/Alexander Hamilton, Alexander Hamilton & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton/Angelica Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/George Washington, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/Richard Kidder Meade
Series: angsty laurens/hamilton oneshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146194
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	That was then, this is now

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Alexander Hamilton! I wrote this angsty fic for you while crying and listening to "Burn" and "It's quiet uptown" on repeat :)))

January 1780, New Jersey.

He was born on one of the coldest days of the year in a month where you rushed to get indoors, hoping to keep out the biting chill and to ward off any wintry sickness. He was told as a child by his brother that it had snowed that day he was born, in their little, run down home, which you could see the ocean if you peered over the rooftops, tilting your head at a certain angle.

It never snowed in the West Indies, so his mother always told him

_ “I knew you were going to be as sharp as the first frost, for nature was sending us a sign of your quick wit and intelligence”  _

His mother always made him feel special on his birthday, pooling the dregs of their money together for a little celebration with some sort of sweet he had always been forbidden to eat, unless a special occasion, and sometimes he would receive a present or two. They would mostly be something cheap that entertained a child, but on monumental birthdays, or when his mother used more money than intended, he would receive something special. Like books. 

January was a beast of a year, pulling a feat to make misery for all of the continental army as the war stretched on, a dim light flickering at the end of the tunnel, so faint, only some could see it if they squinted hard. 

It was a frigid hell as the war was forced to come to a standstill as every body of water seemed to freeze, and even though the sun shone brightly every day, pushing back the clouds of snow and ice, the temperature dropped so the snow was plastered to the ground and Mother Nature seemed to hold her icy breath. 

General George Washington’s troops were holed up in Morristown, New Jersey, about 30 miles from British command, but unable to attack, for thunderous snowstorms had their own ideas and wreaked havoc on both armies alike, creating a hell in which neither army could leave winter encampment. The death toll increased steadily as the weather buried men alive in the snow, froze their limbs off, or starved the soldiers for supplies were weathered in too. 

Alexander cradled his head as his candle danced around the wick as he sorted through correspondence. No supplies meant the lack of uniform, lack of uniform lead to a painful death of freezing. Officers wrote of their most courageous men begging for death to claim them as they turned purple and determined a death to the weather as a mercy. And the army had endeavored less than a week in this brutal month. 

Alexander looked out the window, not far from the horrors of Morristown encampment, but from Cranes Mills he could almost hear the moans of dying men. 

With a shudder he turned back to the mountain of opened letters and unedited responses, his thoughts unusually a jumbled mess and unable to focus much less write coherent thoughts. However, his mind kept turning back to a familiar face with sharp blue eyes, honey-blond hair that was turning darkish brown, and a soft smile that was rare but shone through any darkness. Alexander shook his head as if to keep his thoughts in order, now as not the time. 

He glanced at his half-written response to his  _ wife _ . To himself, Alexander could admit that it was most odd calling Eliza his wife, not in a way which he didn’t love her, he did tremendously, but he had always been a wild spirit, never held down and now he had a wife.

Alexander had always wanted a large family with some doting wife that cared for him, but also could soothe his mind when it was running too quickly for his emotions to follow--and his Betsy was the perfect envisionment of what Alexander supposed a wife should be like. Her cool water doused his raging fire and Alexander knew he hadn’t felt the things he did when he was around her with anyone else.

Well, except John.

Alexander knew how disappointed Eliza was when he had to cut their honeymoon short to rejoin Washington and his staff after their wedding, but she insisted she understood and would be just fine on her own. Alexander hated leaving his newly wedded bride alone for the first months of their marriage, but the war still raged on no matter who lived, who died, who told its story. 

He was grateful for how much she understood, for he needed this time to reflect on how he might go on after the war, a married man, possibly a gaggle of children, helping shape the new nation and-

Well, what would become of him and Laurens? 

Last January, he spent his birthday in the harsh conditions of Valley Forge with his Laurens. 

_ Since his mother’s death, Alexander’s birthdays had been reduced to an appreciation of living another year and then going about regularly.  _

_ His brother and cousin wished him a happy birthday, but since coming to America, he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, so it was just another day in the office, scratching away with his quill on paper, murmurs frequently coming from the other aides as they proceed with their workload. _

_ Next to him, Laurens hummed and tapped his fingers under the desk in concentration, slowly maneuvering them so they brushed Alexander’s thigh. _

_ They had done this a million times, but Alexander’s heart did not cease to flutter at the touch.  _

_ “Tonight” John breathed as he reached for another paper, so quietly the sound could have been the howl of the wind. His warm breath brushed Alexander’s neck and he fought a shiver and the heat pooling in his lower abdomen  _

_ “Be available tonight” Alexander’s pulse was thundering, but he smothered the grin creeping up onto his cheeks and squeezed John’s thigh in confirmation.  _

_ This man would never stop making him feel like an adolescent in front of the one he fancies.  _

_ The day crawled by, painstakingly slow and as evening approached Alexander became a jittery mess. _

_ Every secretive look his Laurens gave him seemed to arouse him even more so that he had to excuse himself from the office and take a walk in the crisp January air.  _

_ Finally, after a hasty meal, Alexander followed Laurens up into the garret, eager to see what surprise Laurens had planned. Laurens was not a man of surprises. _

_ Alexander shut the door in anticipation as Laurens took him in, his Adam's apples bobbing slowly like he was nervous? _

_ As soon as the door was closed, Alexander launched himself at Laurens, connecting their lips urgently for a frenzied kiss. John responds immediately, latching on and soon they break apart, panting and foreheads connecting together. _

_ “I’ve wanted to do that all day” Alexander murmurs, a hand still intertwined in John’s soft hair. Laurens presses a kiss to Alexander’s nose, almost sheepishly as he whispers _

_ “Happy Birthday, my dear boy” Alexander startles. _

_ “My birthday?” John breaks apart, confusion overtaking his face. _

_ “It is on the eleventh of January is it not? You mentioned briefly in conversation and I was determined to remember” Laurens presses his lips together in a frown and Alexander almost cries of happiness. _

_ “Yes,” He breathes. “I was born on this wretched day” John breathes a sigh of relief and then pulls out a box from his coat pocket, it is small and not exciting to the eye, but he offers it to Alexander, the sheepish grin on his face again. Was he blushing? Were it not for being positively stunned, Alexander would have tackled John again in another kiss. _

_ Alexander accepted the gift and upon opening it he gasped. _

_ It was a letterbox, yet not any letterbox like the one he currently owned, weather-beaten and plainly painted, but one made out of delicately carved wood with intricate paintings covering it depicting images such as the Colonial flag, and the continental army. _

_ And oh! There were little paintings of him too, his auburn hair distinct on the little figure next to a tall one with yellow hair, both in blue coats, one holding pen and paper and the other holding a bayonet. _

_ He and John. If Alexander didn’t know any better, their fingertips brushed secretly, just as they would in real life, close enough to feel comfort, warmth, and reassurance, but only a featherlight touch so others may see two men swinging their arms as they walked, or performed any task. _

_ Alexander was entranced trailing his fingers over the paintings of many real-life things. He found Washington commanding the army from his horse, his stoic expression so life-like as the painting perfectly captured the way he barked orders from the field. He spied Meade, furiously riding his trusted horse, letters flying out behind him as their most talented rider. He could even see the dear Marquis de Lafayette clad in his wig and uniform, cutting down redcoats with the precision of only a Frenchman.  _

_ These paintings covered the entire box, each scene more vivid than the next, all places Alexander had gone and made his mark.  _

_ In a trance, he opened the box and- _

_ Quills lay inside, the ones John brought with him from South Carolina, with the special feathers and tips that only a rich man would be able to purchase, and here in the letterbox lay ten or fifteen of them at the  _ **_least_ ** _.  _

_ “Do” Alexander heard John swallow, “Do you like it? I wasn’t sure if…” John started babbling like he usually did when nervous or too vulnerable for comfort as reality caught up to Alexander and convinced him this wasn’t some fantastical dream. _

_ “Did you paint this yourself?” Alexander cut him off, his voice full of wonder.  _

_ “Aye,” Alexander gaped. It had been years since he received a gift to celebrate his birthday, much less a hand-painted gift with quills that must have cost well- He wouldn’t dwell on that. _

_ Alexander stared up at John, his electric blue eyes hopeful and big, his face schooled into careful neutrality, a look of a soldier waiting in anticipation with an extremely good poker face.  _

_ No one had ever even asked him when his birthday way, but John knew. _

_ His kind, passionate, beautiful Jack. Alexander’s heart was bursting at the seams as tears glimmered in his eyes. He didn’t fight them. _

_ No one. No one had done anything like this for him since his Mother’s death.  _

_ “I haven’t received a birthday gift since my Mother died” Alexander whispered, aware of how raspy his voice was. John's eyes widened. _

_ Alexander hadn’t told him too much about his life in the West Indies, but he knew that he told John of his parentage, and how fever almost took him, following his mother after his near-death in Peekskill. _

_ John opened his mouth, but Alexander didn’t let him get a word in before he hurled himself at the man, crashing his lips upon John’s and desperately grappling at his coat, letterbox still in hand, driving him against the wall. _

_ John did not falter as he kissed Alexander back, his tongue slipping beneath Alexander’s making him moan gravelly.  _

_ John involuntarily rolled his hips against Alexander’s, heat flushing down his lower abdomen and their kiss becoming more frenzied. John pinned his hips to Alexander’s and shifted so their hardness may connect and moved up and down creating friction and extracting little whimpers from Alexander, cut off as he forced himself to bite into John’s neck, which drew out deeper moans from the latter.  _

_ They broke apart for a split second, panting, outfit askew, and Alexander’s cravat half undone by John's hands. _

_ Laurens stared into Alexander’s eyes, his blue hues swimming with passion, yet sharp and determined.  _

_ “Happy Birthday, my Alexander” he breathed. Alexander shifted as he felt himself become utterly aroused at the words and his heart beating faster and faster, lust and love overcoming his senses.  _

_ Alexander didn’t care as he tackled John onto the scratchy wool sheets of their small bed loudly, the springs squeaking. _

_ He didn’t care as he let John flip him over, taking charge this time and pleasuring him and leaving love bites all over his jaw, neck, and torso. _

_ He didn’t care as their body thrummed to a steady beat, whimpering praise and declarations like ‘you feel so good’, ‘I love you’ and ‘mine’ but also begging one another like ‘please’ and ‘faster’. Their passion had no end as the euphoria of being joined together drove each other toward the edge--riding through each other’s high until they collapsed next to the other. _

_ Alexander curled up in the nook on John’s neck, engulfed by his smell. He kissed the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down John’s spine. _

_ “I love you” Alexander felt John smile as he was tucked closer to John. _

_ “I love you, always and forever” _

_ Alexander didn’t care that he hadn’t received even a well-wished birthday greeting in over a decade, because he had his Jack. In these moments, they didn’t need a legacy, or money, for they had each other to grant peace of mind, opening the well-guarded doors to their heart. _

The memory left as quickly as it came, leaving Alexander in a dark melancholy with only the short, bittersweet letters for comfort.

His Laurens was in South Carolina, doing intelligence work and for all Alexander knew, dead.

Laurens didn’t even like the secretive, dirty work of spies and intelligence, so Alexander definitely knew Laurens had hit a new low to avoid him by taking up this post.

It was frustrating, how right Laurens always was, how every action was thought out and calculated, and always was  _ for the best _ .

They had exchanged seldom words since the night Laurens fled Alexander after round after round of haughty drinking and a tryst with a cloudy, intoxicated mind, only for him to sober up and feel his  _ damned ring _ . 

Now he had only Laurens’ letters and his palm for comfort as he sat alone in the flickering candlelight, unable to satisfy the ache in his chest.

_ This.  _ He decided,  _ is the worst birthday. _

Alexander figures that he could go out drinking with the little rations they have, get drunk and blame his actions on the alcohol while forgetting reality for a while, but he knew that getting drunk wasn’t as nearly as enjoyable with Laurens’ energy to match his own.

Alexander let his fingertips skim over the faded paint of his letterbox, moments in time frozen and preserved as a way of looking back fondly. All Alexander could feel right now was bitter resentment. But toward what? Laurens? No, he could never resent Laurens no matter what he said in the heat of the argument. Eliza? Absolutely not, she hadn’t intended for any ill feelings. Besty was a good girl, and Alexander didn’t deserve her.

Himself? That was an argument to be made. A series of rash and impulsive decisions lead him up to this moment and now he was alone, snowed in on his birthday. 

He needed to write something. Not just something, but something that would impact him.

He ran a hand down his face, unaware of his exhaustion and health. He vaguely wondered when was the last time he had gotten a proper night’s rest, or when he had last eaten.

Days like these were always a blur of work and passion to distract himself from his impending reality.

_ Act now, justify your actions later. Live in the moment, no matter what it costs you later. Write your way out _ . He told himself. The people around him found this absurd, especially Laurens. Maybe that’s why they worked so well together, balancing each other’s passion and energy out, creating some of the best writings Alexander had even written.

He could almost hear Laurens’ voice now.

_ “Learn from the past and avoid mistakes that you already made. Make a decision based on your previous knowledge and act upon it with strong conviction and passion. Just your past experiences and knowledge help you determine right from wrong. Live in the moment, but don’t do anything that might result in serious repercussions.”  _

He could never be like that, dwelling on his past to determine his future. Alexander was always looking ahead and then traveled back to sort it out in the aftermath. He knew Laurens was dangerously reckless in battle and when infuriated, but anytime else, he seemed to hold back and question his worth, which Alexander had to convince him otherwise. 

Burr always had it philosophies too

_ “Talk less, smile more, don’t let them know what you're against or what you're for. Do you want to get ahead? Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead. Create an opinion and level-headedly act upon it, but keep it to yourself if it puts you in a place where you might create enemies. Be willing to wait for it, you are the one thing in life you can control” _

Alexander huffed a sarcastic laugh. It sounded more like a bark. Burr with his neutral stances and kiss up attitude irritated Alexander, so he could never live by those rules. 

Angelica always told him to use his mind and then his heart. He didn’t know what his mind wanted, but his heart ached unbearably, an endless tug of war between Eliza, Laurens, and duty. 

A stared at the sealed letter addressed to Laurens, burning a hole in the stack of letters to be sent. 

He grabbed a fresh sheet of paper from the bottom of the stack and dipped his quill in ink.

_ One of the quills he gave you _ .

Alexander started furiously scratching away.

One page. How much he misses him.

Two pages. How much he regrets everything he said or did to hurt him.

Three Pages. Fond memories.

Four pages. A conviction to come back to him.

Alexander stopped at the fifth page and growled in frustration, crumpling up the parchment and throwing them into the waste bin.

He snatched an empty piece of paper, his mind whirring. 

Ten pages. 

Ten pages of writing containing everything Alexander had ever wanted to do with him. He didn’t hold anything back writing every dirty image that came to mind, so graphic that he could almost feel Laurens’ touch.

He narrated the perfect tryst, illustrating everything down to the candlelight and Laurens’ expressions. 

At the end, he wrote of how the world seemed to melt away when he was with Laurens, how much he admired him on the battlefield of war with a sword and gun, and on the battlefield of debate with pen and paper. 

He wrote of a perfect world where they didn’t have to hide, where they could have a future together.

He wrote from the heart. Not the fancy, delicate, enticing words he wrote for Eliza, but raw emotion that made his heart pound. 

In his frenzy, Alexander had snapped one of his precious quills, and now ink slowly leaked onto the floor. He paused now aware of how much his hand and wrist cramped. A slow drumbeat of a headache was pushing its way forward to his temples.

He surveyed his work, reading over his words, placing a comma here and there.

Alexander knew he could never send these letters. If anyone were to intercept and read-

_ Christ _ . The consequences would be unimaginable. He could never do that to Jack. 

Turning to the candle, he set the first page aflame. The smell of charred paper filled the room as he burnt paper after paper, each sentence of love, fear and lust erased forever. 

Tears slipped down his face, silent and full of remorse, collecting at the bottom of his chin.

He knew Laurens would be doing everything to get himself killed, with no regard for what might be after the war. 

He knew it for a long time.

Since the color left his face when he announced his correspondence with Eliza.

Since his fuse became so short, Alexander would be breathing in an irritable way and would send them into a rageful quarrel.

Since he announced his engagement and Laurens disappeared for hours, only to drink with them and become so drunk he blacked out.

Since his eyes became hollow and he started throwing himself in every dangerous skirmish and mission no man had the bravery to volunteer.

Since he left for his intelligence post and only wrote a few sentences to Alexander each letter, usually only concerning the war and never about his personal state. Alexander didn’t even know if Laurens even bothered to open his thick letters, four or five pages at the least and with pressed and dried botany in between each page. 

So, Alexander let the tears fall, short breaths rasping from his chest, allowing himself to just  _ feel everything _ . 

He shouldn’t have let his Jack go. 

And he would have to live with that.

Alexander was determined to remain close friends, perhaps nothing more, he may not ever be satisfied with just friends, yet not having Laurens at all was cruel.

_ Stringing him along is even crueler _ . Something in the back of his mind told him.  _ If he wants to be let go, let him go. Give up! _ The voice oddly sounded like his mother. 

In these moments of utter despair, he would go to Lafayette for not just guidance, but also his jovial attitude. Alas, the dear Marquis was sailing back from France, the good news of French ships, supplies, and soldiers on their way. 

Alexander hoped it would be enough.

“Hamilton?” Alexander jumped as the door was opened, harsh light filtering in. 

“Hamilton?” Meade said again surveying Alexander swiping at his eyes and the burnt papers around the room.

“Aye?” Alexander’s voice sounded like it had been through a meat grinder. He fought a blush and a cringe.

“Are you alright?” Meade ventured slowly and in a soft voice, like how one might speak to a spooked animal or child.

“Of course” Meade nodded.

“Just making sure Sir, Laurens’ and Lafayette’s departure has hit us hard, but especially you Hammie”

“I am fine, their leavings were just a matter of time” Alexander snapped and then paused. “Apologies Sir, I have so much work to do”

He did. And couldn't be distracted. He was just non-stop.

**Author's Note:**

> You probably expected a nice, cute, fluffy birthday fic but OH BOY. I normally write in Laurens' POV because his inner thinking comes the easiest to me (even if he's the most complicated) and I can relate more, but writing Alexander was such a treat. Oh also, if anyone noticed whenever A.Ham refers to J.Laurens as "John" It's only in the memory bc in the year between that memory they have grown distant and no longer call each other their Christian names out of endearment. Idk just something a very perceptive reader like me would love.
> 
> It was also my birthday on Friday, so I mainly wrote this to indulge myself on my birthday because I literally DIED when I found out A.Ham's birthday was 3 days after mine.(but it makes sense bc were the same zodiac sign so that's why I #relate to him a little too much) I hope you enjoyed it! Leave a comment to tell me what I can improve on or what you liked! I'm always looking for criticism or what ya'll liked for the future :)))))
> 
> ALso, many historical inaccuracies. From what I gather, Laurens was taken as POW in spring 1780, ALexander married in winter 1780 and was sent home late January cause Eliza was preggo. Between a.ham's marriage and being sent home, Laurens returned to South Carolina for the first time to do spy work and intelligence stuff (before this he clearly shows his dislike for spies and stuff so...). If anyone was confused, Laurens returns for the battle of Yorktown cause a commander died or something, so he fought under a.ham and then went back to Charleston for peacetalks and black battalion. please don't take my word, this is my best guess, around this time is very unclear so I'm guessing :)
> 
> Sources  
> https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0571  
> https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/03-24-02-0369  
> https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0634  
> https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0568  
> https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0573  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Laurens#Return_to_Charleston


End file.
